


One Step Closer

by gremlinny



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Era, David Jacobs is Jewish, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Graphic descriptions of injury, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jewish David Jacobs, Latino Jack Kelly, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Whump, jack kelly is latino, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gremlinny/pseuds/gremlinny
Summary: Jack reaches out and grips the bars on the window tightly.“Me an’ Dave, we’ll carry you outta here if we have to.”“No,” Crutchie snaps, “I don’t want nobody carryin’ me. Never.”“Would you really rather stay here?”David’s tone is incredulous, but the next thing he says is softer, almost hurt. “We can help you, Crutchie. Don’t— Don’t you trust us?”
Relationships: Crutchie/David Jacobs, Crutchie/David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Crutchie/Jack Kelly, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 3
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in 92sies verse, obviously.

Ten-Pin’s small freckled face is what greets Jack as he’s lowered to the window. 

“Heya, Cowboy,” the kid says, “ya miss this joint, eh?”

“Oh, couldn’t stay away, y’know. Look, Ten-Pin, there’s a new guy here. Real tall, brown hair, name’s Crutchie. You seen ‘im?”

Ten-Pin blinks. “The crip?”

Jack clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to tell the kid off. “ _ Yeah _ , the crip. Go get him, come on.”

There’s an amount of venom in his voice that he hadn’t meant to let show through, and the word leaves a rotten taste in his mouth.

Ten-Pin retreats into the room, leaving Jack to stare between the bars at the crowded bunk beds and the rat shit on the floor. There’s a murmur of voices inside despite the fact that everyone’s supposed to be sleeping, and Jack tries not to think about the punishment for breaking curfew, let alone what might happen if they get too loud.

It takes two boys to help Crutchie stand, making his way to the window one painful step at a time. His shirt is tattered and dirty, and every inch of visible skin is mottled black and blue.

“Hey, Jack,” he says, once he reaches the window, and his smile is big enough that it splits his lip open again. “What’re you hangin’ around here for?”

That’s all it takes for Jack to start grinning too, even though his heart’s already broken in his chest.

“Aw, hangin’ around,” he repeats, softly, mostly to himself. He jerks a thumb up toward where his other friend is situated on the roof. ”An’ guess what, Dave’s here too.”

Crutchie’s brown eyes light up as he cranes his neck to try and see. “He is? Well, heya, Davey, how’s it goin’?”

“It’s going,” David groans. 

The rope around Jack’s waist and shoulders is cutting into his skin through his shirt. He lowers his voice to a quieter, more serious level.

“Look, d’you know where your stuff is? Go get it, we’re gonna get you outta here.”

Crutchie’s expression shifts, and he glances down at the floor, uncertain.

“I… I dunno… I got soaked somethin’ awful, Jack. I mean, the Delanceys really worked me over— An’ Snyder… I aint been walkin’ so good.“

“They hurt you?”

Jack feels rage constricting his chest, but he pushes past it. He reaches out to wrap his fingers around one of the bars on the window, gripping it tightly. 

“Hey, no, don’t worry. Me an’ Dave, we’ll carry you outta here if we have to.”

“No,” Crutchie snaps, “I don’t want nobody carryin’ me. Never.”

“Would you really rather stay here?”

David’s tone is incredulous, but the next thing he says is softer, almost hurt. “We can help you, Crutchie. Don’t— Don’t you trust us?”

“Of course I do,” Crutchie says, immediately. “But I— I…”

He squeezes his eyes shut, swearing under his breath. Jack can see the way the gears are turning in his head before looking at his friends with a sigh. “Y’ got a plan?”

Jack nods eagerly, and a few strands of hair fall into his face.

“Okay. Alright, fine. Just… be quiet about it, yeah?”

The railroad spike in Jack’s hands is as quiet as it can possibly be as he begins to pry at the iron bars of the window. The old metal creaks and groans in protest, but it gives way eventually, and then Jack starts at the others. It doesn’t take long for the space to be wide enough that he can crawl in through the window. 

Crutchie’s taller than Jack—taller than every other newsie in their group—but Jack’s strong enough to carry him out anyways. David has to strain to pull the rope back up, and Jack tries to climb up it as best he can to quicken the process. 

They go from the roof to the fire escape, and back down to the streets below. 

**_____________________**

Mist rolls off the Hudson Bay as the boys make their escape from the Refuge, with Jack and David on either side of Crutchie, holding him up. If it was anyone else—anyone other than these two—Crutchie might feel shame burning in his chest. Shame at letting himself get caught at the riot, shame for not defending himself against the Delanceys and Snyder ( _ but what could he do when he was on his knees in handcuffs _ ). Ashamed that he can’t walk on his own, even more so than before. 

The thoughts cross his mind, but he can’t afford to dwell on them, not right now. They have to keep moving. 

They’re going as fast as they can, but it’s still gut-wrenching every time they have to duck into an alleyway to avoid the guards. Every few seconds, they expect to be snatched up by big adult hands, staring into the stern face of a cop. Every foghorn from the riverboats sounds like an alarm going off.

Eventually, though, they’re far enough away that they can slow down, just a bit.

“We can’t go to the lodge,” Jack says, “Snyder knows the address. They’ll come looking as soon as they see that window’s broke. An’ the theater’s closed by now, so that’s out.” 

“We can go to my house,” David replies. 

Jack looks like he wants to refuse— Like he’d rather face Snyder alone than bring any more trouble to the Jacobs’ doorstep—but no one’s in a position to argue. “Right, okay. Your place, if you’re sure.”

David nods.

“Mama already knows what I’m doing out so late anyways. She probably expected us to bring him home.”

Crutchie feels something tighten in his chest. David had told his family they’d be getting him out of the Refuge? They  _ expect _ him to show up? 

He’s never met anyone else from David’s family aside from Les. These people don’t even know him and they’re willing to let him take up space. 

David must see the expression on his face, because he purses his lips and holds him just a bit tighter. 

“Just hold out a while longer, alright? We’re almost there.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie’s got a hand pressed against his ribs as he grits his teeth, and David can see a line of fresh, wet scarlet seeping through the fabric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for graphic descriptions of injury

The Jacobs’ apartment is on the fifth floor, and all three boys know that Crutchie won’t be able to go up that many stairs, even with help. 

Jack carries him again, the same way he’d done at the Refuge. 

There’s no one on the stairs to bother them on their way up, and they’re all grateful for it.

David shoves the key into the lock with a sense of urgency when they reach his apartment. The trio shuffles inside as soon as the door is open, and Jack keeps Crutchie upright once the other boy’s on his feet again. 

David’s mother had been sitting at the kitchen table for God knows how long, but she moves across the room to gather them up in her arms. 

“You did it,” she says, as if she doesn’t believe it, “oh, you’re home, I’m so glad.”

She pulls away and takes a moment to look them over, checking for cuts and scrapes and bruises. David’s clear, and nothing on Jack is hurt that wasn’t already. 

Crutchie’s got a hand pressed against his ribs as he grits his teeth, and David can see a line of fresh, wet scarlet seeping through the fabric. Jack notices it too, because he swears under his breath while he helps Crutchie over to the bed so he can look at the wounds.

Esther has a worried look on her face, clearly concerned for her son’s friends. “David, honey,” she says, softly, “a word?”

Her hand on the sleeve of his shirt is firm as she drags him to the corner, but her voice is gentle. “Mayer’s visiting with a friend from work, and I told Sarah and Les to spend the night somewhere else for now because I knew your friend would need some room.”

“Thank you,” David replies, “I don’t know how long he’ll have to be here, but—“

“They can both stay as long as they need to, don’t you start worrying about that. We’ve got space.”

He knows they don’t. There’s barely enough room in the tenement for the five of them as it is. Les and David share a bed, Sarah sleeps in the same room they do—it’s the only bedroom—and Mama and Papa’s bed is tucked into the corner of the kitchen and dining area, with the couch acting as a barrier between the two sections of the main room. The communal toilets are outhouse stalls in the alley behind the building.

But he’s not about to tell his mother about the lack of space, not when everyone’s so desperate. 

“Okay, mama. Thanks again.”

Esther purses her lips into a thin smile, reaching up to cup her son’s cheek in her hand. “You really care about these two, don’t you, honey?”

“…Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

David looks over his shoulder at the other boys, who are both too busy to notice him watching. 

Crutchie’s shirt is fully unbuttoned now, and Jack moves to help get his arms out of the sleeves. 

The pale skin of his chest is covered in dark bruises, and David has to try not to wince when he notices the long, thin lines of blood where he’d been struck so hard it split the skin. 

“What’d they hit you with,” Jack asks, making an effort to keep his voice calm and even. 

“My crutch. Later it was a— a belt, I think, on my back.”

Jack’s already in a position to look at the damage there, and his expression makes David glad he can’t see it. The wounds on Crutchie’s chest and stomach are bad enough as it is. 

Jack unties his bandanna from around his neck. “Dave,” he calls out, “gimme a hand.”

There’s a hundred things that are left unsaid as David grabs the bandanna, running it under the kitchen sink faucet until it’s heavy with water. Once he’s done, Jack takes it from him and gets to work cleaning the blood from the cuts and lashes.

David glances at Crutchie’s back, and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

The other boy winces sharply as the fabric touches a wound at his shoulder blades. The belt must’ve been leather, because the welts are wide and raised high. There’s so many of the marks overlapping that David can’t even count them— not that he even has the stomach to do so. He can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut at the sight of it all, bringing a hand to his mouth so he doesn’t say anything. 

Esther casts a glance their way, her expression unreadable, before rummaging around in the cupboards for something. Her hand comes out with a roll of gauze and a dark bottle of peroxide, and she sets them on the bed next to Jack. 

They keep working through the sweat and blood, and there are too many times where Esther has to step in with a needle and thread. Her stitches are suited more for fabric than skin, but they’re better than nothing, and David finds himself worrying over the fact that Crutchie hadn’t yelled through the cloth he’s biting down on. 

His stomach twists when he realizes that getting sewn shut probably hurts less than being ripped open.

Once his wounds are cleaned and bandaged, Crutchie’s exhaustion starts to show through the brave face he’d put on earlier. 

A pair of Mayer’s pajama pants had replaced the worn-out trousers he had before, and, with one of David’s shirts hanging off his skinny frame, Crutchie‘s six-foot-three figure seems almost small. 

“I’m tired,” he says, his voice wavering. It’s the understatement of the century, David thinks, and it doesn’t take long before Crutchie’s trying not to cry as he leans his weight onto Jack. “I’m so tired.”

“I know. It’s okay,” Jack says, softly, into Crutchie’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Jackie’s here, you’re safe, it’s okay. I gotcha.”

David moves in too, unable to avoid touching the thick layers of gauze wrapped around Crutchie’s torso, flinching in sympathy. 

“You can rest now. We’re here for you, don’t worry.”

They’re doing enough of that as it is to begin with. 

Dimly, he wonders what time it is. If it’s still night, or if the early hours of the morning had snuck up on them while they were busy. 

“You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take Sarah’s.”

“Davey,” Crutchie starts, “you don’t need to—“

“It’s fine. I promise it’s fine and I don’t mind doing it and Sarah definitely doesn’t mind either, so don’t worry. Please.”

The other boy seems too tired to argue. He doesn’t move to get off of Jack, so David takes it upon himself to pick up Crutchie this time, carrying him with one arm under his knees and one around his back, as they make their way to the bedroom. 

The room is small, and there’s not much furniture aside from the two beds, a desk between them, and a chest of drawers on the wall next to the door. Les and David’s bed is shoved into one corner, with Sarah’s bed in the corner across from it, parallel to the windows. 

David sets Crutchie on his bed as gently as he can, and Jack helps ease him down onto the pillow and under the blankets. 

Jack looks ready to climb in with him, no doubt accustomed to doing the exact same thing in the lodging house. They slept in the same bunk bed, David knows that much, and on nice nights they slept on the roof. There’s longing in Jack’s blue eyes, like he can’t stand to let Crutchie sleep alone.

As if any of them will be able to sleep tonight. 

There’s a demonstration tomorrow at the gates of the distribution center, and David hopes against all odds that things will be peaceful. He wouldn’t be able to deal with a repeat of the earlier riot, not with the cops and the hired thugs and the  _ screaming _ . 

“Dave.” Jack’s hand touches his, and he’s pulled out of his thoughts. “Get changed, get some sleep. I’m takin’ the couch.”

Before he walks out of the room, Jack looks back at Crutchie, then his eyes flick over to David. “I love you guys. Good night, David. Good night, Charlie.”

He gently shuts the door as he walks out. 

They’ve all got a long day ahead of them. David’s not sure if he’ll be able to sleep at all, but the least he could do is rest his eyes until morning. 

Across the room, Crutchie’s already snoring. 

**Author's Note:**

> Im castledock on tumblr


End file.
